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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
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http://www.archive.org/details/agatelampOObeal 



THE AGATE LAMP 



THE AGATE LAMP 



BY 

LAURA F. BEALL 




THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
BOSTON NEW YORK 






Copyright 1922 
THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

All rights reserved 



THE JORDAN & MORE PRESS 
BOSTON 



SEP 19 "2? 

AB83301 



^ »*. t 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

High Tide 3 

The Grieving Faun 4 

Impostors 6 

On the Heath 10 

The Ghost 14 

The Junkman 15 

A Chopin Nocturne 17 

Song of the Snow Elves 18 

The White Horse 21 

Sundry Hopes in regard to Heaven 23 

A Ballad of Love and Hate 28 

The Burial of Attila 32 

To Ariel 35 

The Recall of the Cochran Placks 37 

Queen Marie . . ^ 35 

The Serpent Charmer 45 

Gramercy 48 

Joyeuse Garde 50 

A Name 52 

Tribute 54 

The Voyagers 55 

Forvye Sands 58 

A Minstrel Sings 62 

Ave Maria 63 

Vale! 65 

In the Market-place 66 

A Ballade of Beautiful Horses 68 

After Reading Kit Marlowe's Plays 70 

muckle-mouthed meg 72 

Solomon's Armye 74 

The Weary Soul 80 

The Troubadour would be Forgiven his Neglect .... 84 



THE AGATE LAMP 



HIGH TIDE 

I cannot write when you are near; my blood 
Leaps to your look with the exultant trust 

Of moon mad tides, and all my ordered lines 
Dissolve like meteors in shining dust. 

Yet I have never wished thee far. High tide 
Strews the wet sand with fine fantastic things 

Undreamed of else. And from the soul's abyss 
Strange thoughts and beautiful my passion flings, 



[3] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



THE GRIEVING FAUN 



In a covert of the wood 
Where the whitest beeches stood, 
And spring's first wave of violets broke in purple spray 
Pondering the mystery 
Of an ancient misery, 
Sometimes sad and sometimes vexed, 
And by each changing mood perplexed, 
Couched on grasses lay 
A Faun. And from his lustrous eyes 
Dark with grieved surprise, 
Crystal tears stole down 
To mingle with the dew. 
11 Why," he sobbed, " am I not bold 
And swift enough to seize and hold 
One of those Nymphs, as white and cold 
And fleeting as a rose of snow? 
I could weave poppies for a crown, 
I could bring nuts all sweet and brown, 
Whatever flower she loved to view 
I would find it where it grew; 
If she asked it I would go 
Through the midnight's starry trails 
To snatch moonbeams for her veils; 



[4] 



When the tide had left the sands 

Seek the deepest fluted shell, 

Or in the ocean's wildest flow 

Dive for pearls to heap her hands. 

Surely I could serve her well! 

But when I woo them they are fearful, 

Amazed, alarmed, and tearful, 

And they fly my eager arms 

Like a threat of awful harms, 

Listening not at all 

To the love words that I call. 

And when I, breathless, seem to clasp 

Them they are changed in my grasp, 

By a goddess of the woods they have ranged 

They are changed ; 

Against my panting love torn breast 

A sullen rough barked tree is prest, 

Bruising me, 

Or a swift stream slips 

Past my hot and trembling lips 

To the sea." 



[5] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



IMPOSTORS 



People have taken an imp of the streets, 

Verminous, filthy, 

Ignorant of handkerchiefs, 

Dressed in a tatter of odds and ends, 

To exhibit with strident admiration 

Under thy name 

O beautiful Eros, 

Under thy beautiful name. 

Do you remember the garden wall, 

And the moon like a golden shield, 

The moon that you said was Achilles' shield ? 

The sleepy birds in the cedar trees, 

And the drowsy song 

When our laughter shattered their fragile dreams, 

The lilies that flamed in the moonlight, 

Candles of snow for thee, 

Candles of love with a flame of snow, 

About thine altar, oh beautiful one. . . . 



[6] 



How you stood in the flooding moonlight, 
Crowned with roses, and gemmed with dew, 
With pansies crowding about your feet, 
And sang the songs of the gods, 
The songs of the youth of the world, 
The Kyrielle of beauty, 
The Gloria of love. 

There is a girl from a charity school 

Whom they dress in white, 

High necked and very straight, 

But they might as well have left her as she was, 

For one thinks of checked gingham anyhow. 

She is snuffy and shifty eyed, 

And would steal an occasional trinket 

If she were braver. 

An obtrusive modesty of demeanor 

Stretches thinly over commonplace vileness of thought, 

People say they adore her, 

(Under thy name, O Eros!) 

But they seem a little uncomfortable 

When she is looked at closely. 



17] 



r ; THE AGATE LAMP 

Do you remember the long, hot days 

Under the quiet trees, 

Brooding their treasure of apple and plum? . . . 

The sharp rustle of the heavy headed grain, 

The drone of velvet kirtled bees, 

The endless song of insects in the grass, 

The sigh of a gentle sea, 

Kissing the land with delicate kisses. . . . 

Days without noise, 

Days without silences, 

Days like a woman lying in the arms of her lover, 

Warm and content, 

When the first keen rapture has spent itself, 

When every motion caresses, 

When every word is a sigh of love, 

And every breath is a loving word, 

And kisses fall between every breath. . . . 

Do you remember . . . 

How the song sparrow touched his little flute . . , 

Or was it a shepherd piping in Arcadia . . . 

Through long, hot days . . . 

Under the quiet trees. . . . 



[8] 



And they have worshipped one better than these, 

Perfumed at least, and with wit 

To be found at all hours unimpaired, 

Like a painted leopard's majestical pose. 

But oh, the wild leap through the morning, 

The light that flashed on your bow 

Where it curves like your own rich brows, 

The maddening scent of the clover fields, 

And the songs from the bird-filled woods. 

O Eros, do you remember? 

Two thousand years and five hundred more, 

And back, and back, as you please beyond, 

With a laugh for every year. 

You were young, you were young, oh first of the gods! 

You are young today, most wonderful lord! 

And those who think they are young, 

Who number their years by tens, 

They are old as the last dry leaf. 



[9] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



ON THE HEATH 



Chloris was riding toward London town, 
With feathered bonnet and satin gown ; 
Coachman and footmen in liveries new, 
And ever at beck a maid or two. 
The men were stout, and a musket lay 
At the coachman's feet thro the livelong day, 
In case of robbers along the way. 
But Chloris was fearing them not at all, 
For her mind was busy with f§te and ball, 
With triumphal rides thro the crowded park, 
With how to answer some lively spark, 
With the newest way to order her curls, 
With when she should first display her pearls; 
She wonders if Sir Amyntas is there, 
If Lady Lucilla is still so fair, 
What budding beauty is pressing most 
Toward the honours she holds as reigning toast; 
(Here she frowns in majestic disdain, 
But fearful of wrinkles soon smiles again.) 



10 



Out of the west where the sun is dying 
A horseman swerves like a falcon flying, 
A jewelled sword at his left side swung, 
Low from his hat brim a white plume hung, 
His velvet coat took a richer grace 
From cobweb ruffles of Flanders lace, 
/And his slim black mare was as swift and free 
As ever a bird in the air could be. 

One whistling note from a pistol ball 

And the quaking footmen for mercy call, 

The coachman trembles, the handmaids shriek, 

But a dimple flickers on Chloris* cheek. 

Ignorant Strength is quick to cower, 

But Loveliness seldom forgets her power. 

11 It seems, good sir, that I might complain/' — 
The rider bowed to his horse's mane, 

11 You cannot think, madam, if I had known 
That the queen of beauty rode here alone 
So rude a summons from me had flown? 



[11] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

A country squire of bulging purse, 

Or a gossiping brace of dowagers, 

Might well be thankful to hear no worse; 

But tender indeed the music that seems 

A worthy intruder on your day dreams/ ' 

Well, being thoroughly roused just now, 

What of my jewels? " smiled Chloris. " I vow 

If your demands keep pace with my fears 

I can only sparkle at court with tears." 

Could I endure that a tear should rise 

Thro fault of mine in such glorious eyes? 

An hundred gold pieces you'll hardly miss? — 

Tho it desolates me to ask for this! 

As for your jewels, their ransom shall be 

That you dance a coranto here with me." 

Bow and curtsy, retreat, advance, 

Distance and measure, — " How well you dance! 

If ever to dance at court you care, 

I pledge myself, sir, your partner there." 



[12] 



Delicate steps in intricate maze, 
Down dropped lashes, and ardent gaze. 
14 I danced in the palace many a day 
Ere I left it to ride on the king's highway ; 
I should find it now a dangerous place, 
But who would weigh danger 'gainst such a grace? " 
With shining eyes, when the dance was o'er, 
She gives him her hand at the carriage door, 
So soft a hand it must twice be kissed, 
On taper fingers, and slender wrist. 
To his place each awestruck servant springs, 
Lightly to saddle the rider swings ; 
With gilded coach and horses brown, 
Chloris is riding toward London town. 



[13] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



THE GHOST 

Swift as a great moth flying down the dark 

A wailing spirit fled to where 
His fellows waited, shrieking out, " O mark 

Me, brothers, lest you also dare 
Earth's horrors! I have seen a fearful thing." 

And when they questioned, " Did I boast 
Of love? " the spirit answered, shuddering, 
Tis dead! I saw its dreadful ghost." 



a v 



[14] 



THE JUNKMAN 

I saw an old junkman 

Taking things away, 

And no one seemed to care, 

Or ever said stay, 

Or turned about to stare 

At his plundering. 

He took glorious songs, 

And the throats that sing; 

He took learning and labor, 

And courage and pride; 

Beauty and merriment 

Went in side by side. 

He flung a whole dynasty 

Into his cart, 

He crushed a strong city 

Like a gooseberry tart. 

He gathered up joy 

On his rusty spade 

As tho there were nothing 

To make him afraid. 



[15] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

He tossed hope and genius 

Away like dry leaves, 

I saw him bind Love 

In horrible sheaves. 

Before I w r ent away 

I asked him his name, 

And thought he answered " Time." 

His eyes were like flame, 

And everywhere he turned them 

Shot a sullen beam. 

But still the folk went dancing by 

Like figures in a dream. 



16] 



A CHOPIN NOCTURNE 

Soft, soft as tears, but happy as the strain 
Of drowsy birds, as tho a minstrel sang 
At twilight — smiling when the echoes rang 
Like fairy laughter o'er the wind-stirred grain — 
Of some far golden land where cold disdain 

Comes not, lost hopes, nor sorrow's poisoned fang. 
Ah! thro the dream breaks slow the sullen clang 
Of tolling bells, and stifled sobs whose pain 
Beats ocean-wise against the rock of death. 
The wailing voices cease, the weary feet 

Pass by, and thro the silence, hushed, and far, 
Floats, tremulous with joy, the wistful breath 
Of that unearthly music, grown more sweet, 
Dying in beauty like a setting star. 



[17 



THE AGATE LAMP 



SONG OF THE SNOW ELVES 

Come to us, traveller, under the snow, 

Under the fairy snow, 

Our faces are pale as a moonlit rose ; 

But the lonely dove, when the south wind blows, 

Is never so sweetly voiced and slow 

As we who dwell in the gentle snow, 

Under the fairy snow. 

Here the shadows are blue as the sapphire stone, 
Under the gleaming snow, 
And from diamond cressets the light is thrown 
Upon frosted flowers that are fairer grown 
Since they left the gardens that mortals know 
To bloom again where the frost ferns grow, 
Under the gleaming snow. 



[18] 



O traveller, leave them their fretted world, 

And come to the dreaming snow; 

As in a harbor torn sails are furled, 

As in the calyx soft leaves are curled, 

So hearts may rest from their ancient woe 

In the silvered walls of the world of snow, 

In the halls of the dreaming snow. 

There is never a tear that may pass the gate, 
The pearled gate of the snow; 
The haunting madness that men call hate, 
And the anguish of love that wakes too late, 
Are but vanished dreams in the silken glow 
That shines on the towers of the city of snow, 
The carven towers of the snow. 



[19] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

O traveller, weary, and all foredone, 
Rest in the shining snow; 
Much have you striven, and little won, 
And long is the course that is yet to run 
For the fragile wreath that is all they show, 
Frail as a flower that is drawn in snow, 
Frailer than sun-touched snow. 

O traveller, trust us, our spells are strong, 

And under the happy snow 

You shall dwell content, and shall smile ere long 

At the frenzied righting of frenzied wrong 

That held you fast in its duteous show, 

Ere you heard the magic voice of the snow, 

The song of the happy snow. 



[20] 



THE WHITE HORSE 

Beggarman, what have you seen today? — 

I saw the king when the king rode by 
On a fair white horse that is great and gay, 

The best in the kingdom to fight or fly. 

How did our king look, beggarman? — 

His lips were pale as a dying rose, 
But he smiled as a king or a player can, 

And the thought of the heart there is no man knows, 

Beggarman, how did the battle go? — 

It went as wind from a stormy sky 
Where the wicked lightnings flicker and flow, 

And souls like dry leaves came whirling by. 

Died our young king on a stricken field? — 
By the faith of my soul there were less to weep 

Had he been borne on his dinted shield 
To the kirk where his fathers sleep. 



[21] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

Where did he perish then, beggarman? — 
On the bank where the mill wheel turns; 

Eh, but smoothly the white horse ran, 
With his feet like snow on the dusky ferns. 

Was never a holy friar at hand? — 
There was one who wore the hood. 

May none like him at my death-bed stand, 
To housel me with my blood! 

Know ye, beggarman, where the body lies? — 
Ask the wolf where he drags his prey. 

The good white horse was swift and wise, 
But death more swift this weary day. 

Had that dark stranger borne wrong or scorn? 

None knoweth, and none can tell 
If he were man of a woman born, 

Or a wandering fiend from hell. 



[22] 



SUNDRY HOPES IN REGARD TO HEAVEN 



I hope there is a queer 
Candle-lighted room, 

Where one sips coffee from a clear 
Fragile cup in the gloom, 

While the clever souls arrive. 

And when one's luck is very good 
Hears St. Paul and Socrates 
Saying anything they please. 

Things it was no use to say 

When they were alive ; 

Or things they said in playful mood 
With such arch and airy looks 
That folk left them out of books 

For the junkman, Time, to cart away. 



[23] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



II 

I hope the beasties will be there 

As they were in Noah's ark, 
The elephant and hare, 

The eagle and the lark ; 
But if we should have to choose, 
Horses and dogs we could not lose. 
Delicate nostrils, questioning ears, 
Coquettish prancings, and pretty fears, 
Eager nickerings, musical beat 
On pavement or turf of restless feet. 
The treasuring of beauty 
Is no less than Christian duty, 
And how could we be happy — quite — 
Remembering this lost delight? 
Beseeching paws, and sparkling eyes, 
So sagely merry, so sweetly wise, 
Gentle in play, bold in defense; 
Love, and ardour, and innocence, 
So much of grace and good about them 
That heaven were less itself without them. 



[24] 



Ill 

I hope that somewhere on the shores 
Of heaven (I have earned 
This arrangement) all the bores 

May be carefully interned 
To talk together endlessly. 
Think, how happy they will be! 

IV 

I hope there is a berry patch 

Where the black-masked yellow throat 

Flings his tantalizing note 

As he flutters like a snatch 

Of sunshine thro the leaves ; 

Where on warm and lingering eves 

We, or any worthy soul, 

May find raspberries as sweet 

As the ones we used to eat 

When earth was gay. 

And when we've laid them to our mind 

In our nicest company bowl 



[25] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

With tiny stars around the brim, 
We will see if we can find 
The Little Dipper, and we'll skim 
The Milky Way. 

V 
I hope there is a grassy bit 
Where the story-tellers sit, 
Sit cross-legged on the ground 
With their audience around, 
Just as we have seen them do 
In our happy wanderings thro 
Beautiful Damascus town. 
Not one of all the worthy brood 
With jaded pen and earnest frown 
Who try so hard to do us good, 
But only those delightful elves 
Who simply could not help themselves. 
Plautus, and that merry Greek, 
Bird-loving Aristophanes, 
Bringing smiles to every cheek 
With the angels' oddities ; 



[26] 



Dumas, of course, and Walter Scott, 
And all the shining, starveling lot 
Who sang the ballads, grave and gay, 
That have blossomed since the day 
When Rhyming Thomas went away. 



[27] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



A BALLAD OF LOVE AND HATE 

Two pilgrims rode through the paling light, 

Two through the fading day, 
And one was dight like a wealthy knight, 

And one like a palmer grey. 

Then gleamed before them an ancient tower, 
With a porter at the gate ; 
41 We come as lords to thy own lord's power/' 
They said: 44 We are Love and Hate." 

Prince Aymel gathered his wise men there, 

Ere ever the night grew late, 
And bade them give him an answer fair 

To the message of Love and Hate. 

44 Now tell me this by your hope of fame, 
And tell me this ere long, 
For it will be to our lasting shame 
If we should choose awrong." 



[28] 



Then out from among the eldern lords 

Spake one whose beard was grey, 
Who ever had loved to speak riddling words, 

And walk in the hidden way. 

If you would know of your choice this day, 
There is little better and nothing worse; 

Yet from Hate have I seen men ride away, 
But Love they will cling to — and curse.' ' 

But stoutly against his words they hold, 

As stoutly as mortals might, 
Crying that Love was a thing of gold, 

And the lord of all delight. 

Yea," said the Prince, " ye have praised his name, 

And made him many a song, 
But ye choose tonight by a torch's flame, 

And how if you choose awrong? " 



[291 



THE AGATE LAMP 

With many a word they answered there, 
And many a smile of scorn, 
41 Have we not seen him and known him fair? 
We knew him ere thou wast born." 

" Unbar the gates," the counsellors cried, 
" Unbar the gates with speed, 
The way must be wide for a king to ride, 
And Love is a king, indeed. 

" And this is he in a king's array, 
On his charger bright and brown; 
Love does not stray through the dusty way 
In a palmer's ashen gown." 

There close at hand did Prince Aymel stand 
To honour his guest's high state, 

But quickly the palmer seized his hand 
And drew him without the gate. 

44 Now vain, false wight, is thy wicked might, 
I will not go with thee, 
For still to lord Love my faith I plight! " 
Quoth the palmer, " I am he." 



[30] 



11 He who they said was a monster dread, 
Have they chosen him in thy place? ' 
11 There be many who name my name," Love said, 
14 Who never saw my face. 

" But come, for see, like an opening flower, 
The star that tells of day, 
And we will forget the ancient tower 
When we walk the greenwood way." 



[31] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



THE BURIAL OF ATTILA 

They came to rouse him from his sleep, 
The bridal sleep of Attila; 

A wondering fear swept o'er the throng 
To find his slumber grown so deep ; 

He stirred not for his minstrel's song, 
The song best loved of Attila. 

It is like watching at a tomb," 
Quoth the folk of Attila. 

And bold with dread his captains came, 
Lighting the dusk and silent room 

With flashing steel and eyes of flame, 
Eyes that sought for Attila. 

They lifted high upon their shields 
The grim-looked corse of Attila; 

" Where is our lion's fitting den? 
Each muddy patch of dull earth yields 

A common grave for common men, 
But where *s a grave for Attila? " 



[32] 



They wrought a chest of ruddy gold, 
The blood-washed gold of Attila, 

Wrought it well for the mighty dead, 
Wrapped it in silver, fold on fold, 

Sheathed it last in a pall of lead, 
Dark as the sins of Attila. 

Prisoners toiled with pick and spade, 
(Prisoners ta'en by Attila) 

Turned the river from its path, 
Drew it down where the grass had swayed, 

White with foam in its sullen wrath, 
One captive more for Attila. 

They made his grave in the river's bed, 
A deep, deep grave for Attila, 

And brought its waters back again. 
1 For it is well," the captains said, 

" That he should lie as none have lain, 
There being none like Attila. 



[33] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



But not so well that any slave, 
(Hosts have died for Attila) 

Tell his cowed foemen where he lies, 
Lest they who fled him mock his grave." 

When they had hushed the latest cries 
The waves were red o'er Attila. 



134] 



TO ARIEL 

Over the meadows of cowslip bloom, 

Over the shimmering stretches of sea, 
Over the wide forest's sun-shot gloom, 

Sweetest of fairies, come home to me! 
Passing so lightly the guarded towers, 
Into the palace where hatred cowers, 
Come with the breath of our island flowers, 
Daintiest Ariel, come to me. 

Milan is mine, so the courtiers say, j 
Palace, and armies, and lands in fee. 

(Yellowing sands where the sea nymphs play; 
Ah, how the dreams have come home to me!) 

Never a tear in your winsome eyes, 

Never a memory you may prize, 

Never a thought of my wistful sighs, 
Nor a wish to come home to me ; 



[35] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

Not as you came when my spells had bound you, 

Dimming a little your birdlike glee, 

Come to me now as tho love had found you, 

Dearest of fairies, come home to me. 
Men have forgotten my love in my power, 
Souls cannot thrive in a spear-circled tower; 
Voiced like a flute, aye, and faced like a flower, 
Loveliest Ariel, come to me! 



[361 



THE RECALL OF THE COCHRAN PLACKS 

The sun smiled down on a king's array, 
And flashed from a kingdom's swords, 

When thro the bright morning proud Cochran rode 
To meet with the Scottish lords. 

For a page had told him, " At Lauder church 

The Scottish nobles are." 
1 And what do they there," bold Cochran cried, 
" Without the earl of Mar? " 

The people murmured to see him pass 

With a hundred men at his back, 
For they hated him sore for the murdered earl, 

And worse for the Cochran plack. 

He listened in scorn to the muttered hate, 

And lazily smiled and spoke, 
" That money ye love not shall be recalled — 

On the day I am hanged, good folk! " 



[37] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

Then he turned in the saddle laughing, 

While answering laughter came, 
For the men who followed him served for gold 

And cared no whit for his fame. 

Black velvet robed him from cap to spur, 

Black velvet and silver sheen, 
With a hunting horn on a golden chain 

Had half ransomed a captive queen. 

His own right hand unlatched the door, 

His own hand flung it far, 
And his own voice cried as he stepped within, 
" My lords, 'tis the lord of Mar! " 

Then lightly Lord Grey to the Douglas turned, 
With a mock on lips and brow, 
11 The mice were bold when the cat was far, 
But the cat is among them now! " 



[38] 



11 The worse for him," quoth the grim old earl; 
" Hunter of mischief, thy hunt is o'er, 
Betake thee to prayer if thou knowest one, 
For in faith thy need is sore." 

Careless the answer Cochran made 
Over his heart's despair ; 
11 Strange is this greeting, but stranger still 
That the Douglas speaks of prayer." 

" Ay, truly," said Archibald, " for I think 
Thy prayers have little power, 
But our ropes are strong, and, by St. Bride, 
Thou shalt know it within this hour." 

Then Cochran beckoned his arm6d men, 
But their eyes were dark with doubt, 

For they feared the nobles within the church 
And the vassals who stood without. 



[39] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

He turned him again with a scornful smile, 
11 My lords, if you tie my hands, 
Of your courtesy do it with silken ropes, 
I like not these hempen bands.' ' 

Lord Grey laughed loud, but the Douglas frowned 
11 Twere an honour to thy foul corse 
To let it hang from the halter rope 
That had tethered my meanest horse." 



Ere the gloaming fell were the placks recalled, 
And the people, before they slept, 

Talked of the promise that Cochran made, 
And Archibald Douglas kept. 



[40] 



QUEEN MARIE 

Yes, I can tell you of her if you'll loiter here and wait; 
I can tell the strangest happenings for as simple as I 
stand, 
Tho the neighbors never guess it, those who gossip at my 
gate, 

And the best of all my memories, is the Queen 

o* Fairyland. 

They told us she came from the coasts of France, nay, 

but from Fairyland, 
r There never was one like her that came of a mortal line ; 
The red rose gave her the fragrant lips, and the lily the 

wee white hand, 
And the stars grew pale with wonder before her lovely 

eyne. 



[41] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

I was just a 'prentice cobbler when I saw the Queen ride 
past, 
And the master called me idle, tho it's little I could 
care; 
His eyes were scarcely lifted from his leather and his last, 
But mine were happy prisoners, like the pearls amid 
her hair. 

I'd a wife, the best o' women, and children two or three, 
And Fd seldom thought to envy any lord that e'er 
drew breath, 
But Fd envy for the silken lads who rode with Queen 
Marie, 
Tho a sudden whisper told me that they rode the way 
to death. 



[42] 



They glanced along the highway like a flight of wandering 
stars, 
And she amid them smiling, like the crescent moon of 
May. 
How should she guess at the sullen strength of English 
prison bars, 
She, who played with her lovers' hearts as a child with 
kneaded clay? 

Minstrels twain from over the sea, and the Scots lords 
that you know; 
Francis bringing a kingly name, and Douglas a kingly 
heart. — 
There's never a lass o' the middle earth can hold her 
lovers so, 
They'll love you well in the sunshine, but in the storm 
they'll part. 



[43] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

There was never a heart that beat 'gainst hers but 
Death's hand stilled it soon, 
And never a lover kissed her lips but he found Death's 
poison there; 
Yet the men who saw her smiled at fate, and flung their 
souls for a boon, 
And 'twas said the blood shed for her flushed the 
pearls that bound her hair. 

That was but a foolish fancy, and I've many such at hand. 
You've heard the elfin story of the gentle Rhymer's 
fate? 
I've sometimes thought my soul went with her back to 
Fairyland, 
Tho the neighbors never guess it when they gossip 
at my gate. 



[44] 



THE SERPENT CHARMER 

Upon a mat of woven grass 

He sits, just where all folk may pass, 

Singing ever the same faint rhyme. 
No branch to shield him, no gnarled root, 
Only the rhyme and a dreaming flute 

To hold him free of the serpent, Time. 

How will he take, when the music foils 
Him no longer, the song-spent breath. 

The slow embrace of the tightened coils, 
Or the swifter kiss of the painted Death? 



[45] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

And ever with laughter the people pass 
The conjurer, crouched on his mat of grass, 

Throwing a coin to him now and then. 
" The serpent is old and tame, no doubt, 
And of a surety his fangs are out." 

For this is the wisdom of mortal men. 

Will they smile when the silken music fails, 
When the soft, slow words no longer fall, 

When the rose-flushed melody droops and pales, 
And the snake is freed from the charmer's thrall? 

Many to smile, and a few to sigh, 
" Ah, the dread of that baleful eye, 

And the loathly grace of the swaying head! 
Away, away, that we may not see 
The enamelled coils of this mystery, 

Nor his eyes like those of the wicked dead! " 

But what of the charmer who hears the cry, 

Nor ever ceases his fluting low, 
Nor ever perils by vain reply 

The subtle spell he is weaving slow? 



[46] 



He remembers a bygone holyday 
When, swift on the dust-dim highway, 

Another serpent charmer came. 
Was it glance of eye, was it flutter of hands? 
He never knew, but he understands, 

In the fashion souls may claim. 

Then his song grows sweet as a wind-tossed flower, 

For the lifting of lonely dread. 
And the serpent sways to the growing power, 

Drooping the pride of his venomed head. 



[47] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



GRAMERCY 



Love, you have made me free of all the lands of Faerie, 
I have tasted elfin food, and sipped their richest dew, 

Wee voices bade me tarry, 

With words so sweet and airy, 

As seems forgotten music grown sweeter than we knew. 

Twas you who flung so wide the silver-shining gate, 

And led my soul, elate, 

Through the dawn of the fairy day, 

In robes of purple splendour along the moonlight way. 

Love, you have made me free of Camelot and Tyre, 
The ancient streets grow young again in answer to my 
need, 

Happy lovers wander there with myrtle twined lyre, 
And their sighs are turned to music by the cunning of 
the reed ; 

Their dark eyes shine 

With the light in thine ; 

And as kindly they gaze on me, 

As the gracious moon on the panting sea, 

The slim young moon on the restless sea. 



[48] 



Love, you have made me free of all the spirit lands, 
Where sad, sweet voices sing of loves that vanished 

long ago, 
Sighing over faded hours 
As we o'er faded flowers, 

With passionate refrains that cling like clasping hands; 
Where noon and night 
Are a vague delight, 
White pearls on a thread of sorrow, 
As they come and go 
In their subtle flow, 

Like the mystic tide of a dreaming sea, 
While a piercing sweetness 
And strange completeness 
Of melody thrills through the glimmering air, 
Drowning the echoes of pain and care, 
Till they falter and die, 
Till they soar and fly, 

In changeful and excellent harmony. 



[49] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



JOYEUSE GARDE 

When first I came to Joyeuse Garde 

White clouds were drifting by, 

And their heaven was not more clear 

Than the earth and the placid mere. 

An elfin song of elfin cheer 

The lark's voice seemed upon the ear, 

And happily I made reply, 

When first I came to Joyeuse Garde. 

When that I dwelt in Joyeuse Garde 
There were no clouds at all, 
The sun ne'er seemed so well content 
With buttress gray or battlement ; 
And where the rose and ivy blent 
Through open lattices they went 
To gladden bower and princely hall, 
When that I dwelt in Joyeuse Garde. 



[SO] 



When I went forth from Joyeuse Garde 

Some evil thing had chanced, 

The lark was dumb, the roses dead, 

Within the ivy screech owls bred ; 

The casements peered like eyes of dread 

Into the evening's stormy red. 

About me fearfully I glanced 

When I went forth from Joyeuse Garde. 



[51] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



A NAME 

Between two fluttering leaves I caught 

The glitter of a name, — 

Montrose. 

The book was not about him, 

Nor about anything in particular, 

But there sparkled the name, ennobling the whole day, 

Sending a flash of courage thro tired veins, 

Reminding the discouraged soul 

That folk were not all mouse-coloured and given to sly 

gnawing, 
Nor wolfishly eager to run in packs, 
Nor looking wise over badly roasted peanuts 
Whose very possession they owed to benevolent passers- 

by. 

It was as tho one cut across a vacant lot, 

Expecting disagreeable odours and cockle burrs, 

And brick-bats and tin cans, 

With possibly a snake, 

And came suddenly upon a fallen star 

Among the weeds, 

Marvellously unbroken and scintillant. 



152] 



The ancients who were wise enough to feel 

That powerful magic lived in names 

Are dead, 

And it is fashionable now to smile 

Politely and with condescension at such thoughts, 

Well, — there's the name I saw, 

Purple and glorious as battle flags, 

And bright as steel, 

Deepening the breath like a sea wind. 

You have full leave to smile at me ; 

I am as free to pity you. 



[53] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



TRIBUTE 

He who would touch our thoughts to nobleness 
Need crave no artistry of words. Instead, 

Voicing a glory flung too high for praise, 
Let him say " France," — and all is said. 



[54] 



THE VOYAGERS 



Past a shining tower we came, 
Beautiful and beckoning; 
Long we held at anchor there, 
Marvelling that castle rare 
Should be left to mariner 
Who chose to claim, 
But we feared the reckoning. 
Winds were fitful, cliffs were high, 
In every wave that hurtled by 
Flickered the spears of death — 

Yet we passed it with a sigh, 
And for the breathing of a breath 

No man met another's eye. 



[55] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



II 

Flashing white among dark trees 

Rose a shaft of stone, 

Slender, radiant a$ flame. 

The land was delicate and tame 

Save for those demonic trees 

Brooding their evil mysteries. 

Their shadow dripped upon the ground, 

Thick, palpable as clotted blood. 

Whatever name we carved or found 

Upon that gleaming stone 

How should the land be good 1 ? — 

What bird had flown 

Across the grove to blast it thus? — 

Thought nor recked we then of shame, 

For the dark trees daunted us. 



[56] 



Ill 

Now we are content at sea, 
Seek nor shaft nor tower ; 
For dead hope we have no tear, 
We can smile at ancient fear, 
Fling regretful memory 
As we fling a flower. 
To the open ports we go, 
Buy the merchandise all buy, 
Have no wares we may not show 
In every market-place. 
Once a proudly questing eye, 
Once a wild song's flying grace, 
Remembered us of shaft and tower; 
Lightly now we put them by, 
Deeply feed, and softly lie; 
They have had their hour. 



[57] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



FORVYE SANDS 



The ancient Laird of Forvye 
Upon his death-bed lay, 
" From Andrew the Reiver's clutch, " he sighed, 
God keep you as He may." 



u 



For he had sheep, and grain in store, 
And gold and gear at hand, 

But few stout men to rise at call, 
For his was a lonely land. 

He had oxen upon the field* 
And deer within the glade, 

But the only heir of all his wealth 
Was but a slender maid. 

He had not lain upon his bier 

An hour but barely four, 
When Andrew the Reiver and his men 

Came riding to the door. 



[58] 



With glaive and ax they battered down 

The bolts that held it fast; 
The seven tall candles round the bier 

Flickered as he passed. 

11 Hold your hand for this one poor night, 
Till we have made our dole ; 
Till the bell is rung, and the requiem sung, 
To comfort the parted soul." 

11 We can troll a blithe drinking-song, 
I, and my sturdy crew, 
Will help his sleep as much, I trow, 
As any priest could do." 

She turned her to the outer door, 
To the mirk, and the wind, and the rain, 

But ere her foot passed the threshold o'er, 
She turned her round again. 



[59] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

" Listen," she said, and " listen," she said, 
And smiled, and raised her hand; 

" Hark how the wind brings in the sea, 
And the rain sweeps down the land. 

If ever a woman's curse had power 

On those who wrought her ill, 
I wish that never a sheaf lie more 

On Forvye dale or hill. 

From this black day on the pleasant fields 

Where the golden harvests grew, 
May there be naught but the bitter sand, 

And thistle, and twisted yew." 

Nine weary days, nine awful nights, 

The rain went driving by, 
And the screaming winds tore the falling tower 

Like a pack of hounds in cry. 



[60] 



For nine dread days, for nine wild nights, 

The sea devoured the land, 
And when it sank from the Forvye fields 

They were bleak and barren sand. 

Sometimes, they say, on a dark midnight, 
Like a shadow the old tower stands, 

And round it wanders that sad ladye, 
And weeps, and wrings her hands. 



[61] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

A MINSTREL SINGS 

In the Year of Our Lord 1221. 

One while I walk a fancied king, one while 

A lovely lady's page; 
I would be hero of some knightly guest, 

Or deeply learned sage. 

When painters deal with violet and green 

My hand would blithely paint; 
And when sweet Brother Francis passeth by, 

Then I would be a saint. 

But by my faith I have no time for these, 
So fast the songs come whispering; 

And will I, nill I, I must be God's lark, 
He put me here to sing. 



[62] 



AVE MARIA 

'Twas known to all men as the house of hate, 

None took that path who could have found another, 

Yet workmen entering the place of late, 
Saw there a picture of the virgin mother. 

There are all sorts of guesses to be made, 

And some have judged the matter one for jeering; 

A few explained it fully, so they said, 

But thro their words the mystery keeps peering. 

A soul stirred in that chrysalis of hate, 

And gave it kindly, thrilled with new elation ; 

Or bought it, prompted by malicious fate, 
Just to discharge a galling obligation. 

Believed a native goodness sure to thrive 

If safely kept from certain well known glances ; 

Perhaps the blackest fiend in Satan's hive 
Fancies himself the sport of circumstances. 



[63] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

A soul that life had cruelly ensnared 

Breathed in that face its tender aspirations ; 

To solve the riddle half the village cared, 
But there were riddles in the explanations. 



[64] 



VALE! 

Filling of life where the new grass springs, 
Thrilling of life where the gay lark sings, 
A veil of green o'er the foothills cast, 
A white-throat chanting that winter's past, 
A spray of blossom against the sky, 
And you, and I, — 
(Oh, the days were dear!) — 
Laughing for joy that summer was nigh. 

Flicker of wing and flutter of throat, 
Echoing ring of the last sweet note, 
A fleck of snow on the mountain's crest, 
And dead leaves filling the white-throat's nest, 
Only one star when the night winds moan, 
And I, alone, — 
(Oh, the days are drear!) — 
Sighing that love and summer are flown. 



[65] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



IN THE MARKET-PLACE 

There's a man whom the world thinks happy, there's a 

man whom the world calls great, 
The haughtiest bow before him, and the mighty throng 

his gate; 
They bring him gold and golden words, but when their 

gifts are laid, 
I think of a mess of pottage, and the price a hunter paid. 

For I knew him before they lured him to their gilded 

prison bars, 
When the birds told him their secrets, and his heart was 

kin to the stars ; 
When he loved the steep hill country, and the prairie's 

half opened scroll, 
But most of all the desert, where God had fashioned his 

soul. 



[66] 



O, few there be who never see the world's great market- 
place, 

And he came to it over -weary, after a fruitless chase; 

They meshed his eyes by their merchandise in vase and 
casket and roll, 

And when they saw he had taken naught they bade him 
pay with his soul. 

There's woe when a woman sells her flesh, or a sophist 

sells his brain, 
But when a poet sells his soul there is deeper loss and pain; 
Yet they who charm to their lasting harm the things that 

are weak and still 
Are over bold if they think to hold a lion against his will. 

He will forget the broken net and the days of captive dole 
When the desert winds sing to him and the great stars 

make him whole ; 
And the past shall seem but an evil dream, full paid by 

quick disdain* 
When back from the desert my hunter comes to claim 

his soul again. 



[67] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



A BALLADE OF BEAUTIFUL HORSES 

Tell me, in what shield-covered tower 

Impatient Sleipnir waits to greet 
The dawn of Asgard's battle hour? 

In what star radiant retreat 
Does Pegasus, the wide winged, eat 

The choice of heaven's granary, 
Well pleased to hear the Greeks repeat 

His prowess in their poetry? 



[68] 



Bucephalus, too fierce and stour, 

Till love had made his pride complete; 
He from whose eyes there fell a shower 

Of loving tears (or else, I weet, 
His poet uses much deceit), 

To grace his master's obsequy ; 
They two who paced old London's street, 

White Surrey and Roan Barbary. 

Where feed all these? With him whose power 

Brought victory and slew defeat 
At Winchester? What tender flower 

Yields delicate, Elysian meat 
For their soft muzzles, satin sweet? 

And flashing o'er what sunny lea 
Dance bay Motilla's dainty feet, 

Clad in their silver bravery? 

L'envoi 

In whatsoever star they meet, 

How glorious so e'er they be, 
I know a wise horse, fair and fleet, 

Worthy that noble company. 



[69] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



AFTER READING 
KIT MARLOWE'S PLAYS 

In a world of dream and desire surges a passionate sea 

Where ships like meteors pass in a glory of shattered 

stars, 

And only the tall cliffs know how eager the waves may be 

To snatch from a trophied galleon the splendour of 

ancient wars. 

The soaring sun and the cliffs have kiss'd, 
And the cold rocks blossomed with amethyst ; 
Sunbeam and topaz have mingled their rays, 
And the earth is aglimmer with chrysoprase. 

Rich in illustrious spaces quaint colored cities stand, 
Watching the strange dark rivers flow down to that 
ultimate sea, 
While high o'er their vivid turrets float the banners of 
the land, 
White with loveliness, golden with wealth, and pur- 
ple with mystery. 



[70] 



About the river that clearliest flows 
Spring fragrant arbours of jasmine and rose; 
And the lily buds wake when night draws near 
Over valleys of primrose and eglantere. 

Above the city, above the sea, an immortal star sweeps 
by, 
Fulfilling the tremulous air with an exquisite dream of 
light, 
And swift, and sweet, from the loftiest tower a voice 
makes cadenced cry, 
Hymning the joy of city and sea in the star's celestial 
flight. 



[71] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



MUCKLE-MOUTHED MEG 

" What will you do with the .handsome knight 
Whom your men led home in chains? " 

" What should I do, dame," quoth Elibank's laird, 
"But hang him for his pains? 

" He was the boldest at foray or fight 
On whom the moon doth shine, 
But he has harried the last of my men, 
And lifted the last of my kine." 

" There is little of wisdom in that," she said, 
" I tell you frank and true, 
For a paltry spite to awake the might 
Of Hardin and Buccleuch. 

When we have daughters three unwed, 

And never a one that's fair, 
Would you be so little a man of wit 

To slaughter Hardin's bonny heir? 



[72] 



Sir William is the handsomest man 

Doth on the marches ride, 
And our poor Meg the ugliest maid 

Within the country side, 
Yet I trow he will sooner wed than hang, 

Tho muckle-mouthed Meg were bride/ ' 

They asked him once, they asked him twice, 

11 I had liefer hang," laughed he; 
But when they asked him his will again, 
'Twas under the gallows tree. 

11 Tho the marriage noose should gall its worst, 
I think it may hardly kill, 
And granted Meg's mouth be rarely wide, 
The grave gapes wider still." 



[73] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



SOLOMONS ARMYE 

Kyng Solomon, hys armye, 

Was wondrouslye beseene, 

A settying forth of leopard, 

Of ounce, and wolveryne; 

Foxes were hys counsellours, 

Hys couryers were deere, 

The faces of hys lyones 

Wynged hys foes wyth fear. 

There myghte bee seene the apysh trybes 

Arraying for the fyeld, 

Wyth bended bowes and arrowes keene, 

Wyth sword lykewyse and shyeld, 

The whyle in furyous fashyon 

Each beates hys breaste and synges 

Of how hys myghtye prowesse 

Hath vanquished myghte kyngs, 

There flashed the rypplyng broken lyghte 

Upon the tyger's bars, 

There moved the horned ryver horse, 

And panthers, and jaguars. 



[74] 



The redd glance of the buff aloe, 

The boar's whyte tusked glare, 

The awefulle mystery of strengthe 

In elefaunte and beare. 

They re tramplyngs shooke the heartes of men, 

And terry blye they spoke, 

No paynim kyng durst meddle 

With Solomon hys folke. 

Kyng Solomon, hys armye, 

Was a marvell to have hearde, 

For there rose uppe the goodlye speech 

Of every wing6d byrde. 

By daye the swallowes swept the skye, 

The owles patrolled the nyghte, 

The herons alle were sentinelles 

To guard 'gainst sudden fryghte. 

A lusty troop of pelycans 

Bare pouches fylled wyth foode, 

And in the camp were weavers 

And those who worked in woode. 



[75] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

There was the prydefulle countenance 

Of eagle bothe and hawke, 

Who of combat and of glory 

Dydde make they re day lye talke. 

Men were none who myght endure 

Clutch of talones, blowe of wynges, 

Deavying cryes and whetted beakes 

For the sake of paynim kynges. 

The byrdes rose uppe lyke wynd blowne leaves, 

Lyke cloudes made dark the sunne ; 

The kynges cast ashes on theyre heades 

Before the byrdes of Solomon. 

Solomon hadde an armye 
Whose lyke has never beene, 
A gatheryng of Af rites, 
Of Goblynnes and of Jinn. 



[76] 



Sometymes as wee as mydges, 

Anon more huge than trees ; 

Theyre voyces lyke a torrent's roar, 

Agayne lyke hummyng bees. 

They called to one another 

By theyre astoundyng names, 

And twixt theyre fencyng ivory teethe 

Breathed laughter mixed wyth flames. 

Theyre weapones were enchantments, 

Dyre spells, and monstrous charmes, 

Where bye the vyctyms presentlye 

Dydde suffer grievous harmes. 

At tymes they walked as earthlye men, 

Then shotte uppe gyantes drear, 

And vanyshed into thunder cloudes, 

At whyche folke dyed of fear. 

They harry ed alle the paynim kynges 

In persone and in pelf, 

None dared to looke upon the band 

Save Solomon hymself . 



[77] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

Kyng Solomon, hys armye, 

Was lyke devouryng fyre, 

Spearmen out of Saba, 

And saylor laddes from Tyre. 

Brave in golden necklets 

Lyon hunters came, 

Lured from dystant Ethyope 

Bye Solomon, hys fame. 

Archers from Mounte Libanone, 

And slyngers from the playne, 

Cavelyers of Egypte, 

Reaped hys foes lyke grayne. 

And when the kyng was pleased to ryde 

Hys guards about hym paced, 

In tunycs of the purple dye, 

Bye golden beltes embracedl 

They were more large than common men, 

More large, and muche more fayre; 

Theyre sword hylts blazed wyth emeralds, 

Wyth gold dust shone theyre hayre. 



178] 



The horses were as swift as thought, 
And eache as whyte as my Ike, 
And alle were shodde wyth sylver, 
And alle were trapped wyth sylke. 
The paynim kynges were famous lordes, 
And loftylye could boaste, 
But alle they re spyryt fledde before 
Kyng Solomon, hys hoste. 



[79] 



THE AGATE LAMP 



THE WEARY SOUL 

A weary soul sank down, dismayed, at heaven's gate, 

and wept ; 
" Ye did not well to take me from the hillside where I 

slept, 
The kind trees spoke in whispers that they might not 

break my rest, 
But you have snatched me from it, and tell me I am 

blest." 

The angels they were troubled, sore troubled all the 

band, 
The angels were indignant for the honour of their 

land, 
But the good Lord Jesus laughed at them, "I do 

remember me 
Of certain lovely hillsides where I walked in Galilee; 



[80] 



Also I know the weariness that healeth best alone.' ' 
The weary soul was comforted, and ceased his heavy 

moan, 
Saying to the angels, " Leave me in these outer fields, 
For I crave naught but quietness of all that heaven 

yields." 

The happy souls looked at him with infinite amaze, 
They talked about him wistfully throughout their 

joyous days; 
They brought him budded roses, and told him where 

they grew, 
They brought him spicy breathing pinks, and lilies 

blanched with dew. 

Child angels came on tiptoe, with interesting things, 
Kittens chasing meteors, and doves in rainbow swings, 
Their very dearest dog, fresh braided star wreaths 

round his ears ; — 
The weary soul smiled at them, but the smile was 

worse than tears. 



81] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

He nestled like a hunted lark within the long, warm 

grass, 
He saw the slow, white, noiseless clouds, like phantom 

carvels, pass; 
He watched the brave ant people building vast historic 

towns, 
Or seeking, round an unsung Troy, the conqueror's 

laurel crowns. 

He saw the large-eyed beetles gleaming in enamelled 
mail, 

He heard the blackbird's challenge, and the sweet flute- 
throated quail, 

He watched the veined grass bending as the wind's light 
feet went by, 

He counted every fairy plume upon the butterfly. 

And night by night the faithful stars enringed the 

weary soul ; 
He saw the mist-cloaked Rider, and his bright Horse 

guard the pole, 
He saw the heavenly Ship glide past, star foam curling 

from her prow, 
He saw a great king planet frontlet Taurus' lordly 

brow. 



[82] 



He lay in pools of moonlight till his aching cares were 

gone, 
After cruel thirst of beauty drank the colours of the 

dawn. — 
And all the wondering angels saw the weary soul made 

glad, 
And all the puzzled angels thro their wonderment were 

glad. 



183] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

THE TROUBADOUR WOULD BE FORGIVEN 
HIS NEGLECT 

Ah, fair sir God, I pray Thee pardon me 

My too unkindly slighted minstrelsy! 

Thou knowest well for why my lips are mute, 

My pens unpointed, and unstrung my lute, 

Thou know'st my gentle lord is dead, who heard 

With sweetest courtesy each little word 

Of mine ; yea, in the palace of his heart 

Gave them imperial lodging, far apart 

The careless world. Also, if they were bare 

Of gracious raiment, he would give them vair, 

And sendal, scarlet say, and loops of pearl. 

O, thou vile death, most foul dispiteous churl, 

Are there not those who shame the world too long, 

That thou must slay my lord, and slay the song 

Unborn upon my lips! Of what avail 

If I should hush the very nightingale, 

Now that my lord no longer heareth me? 

Thus have I spoken, very evilly. 



[84] 



I said, Heaven wills my viol should be broken, 

I said, Heaven wills my songs should be unspoken, 

And all the while I did not touch a string, 

And all the while I did not strive to sing. 

Natheless, I ask Thee, of Thy courtesy, 

To think the wizard, grief, hath blinded me; 

Else, if a great king, seeing my lord's grace 

Deserved a loftier, more courtly place, 

Had summoned him in haste, as having need 

Of his approved valour and wise rede, 

Would I have gathered villainous words to pelt 

His stately herald with? Nay, while I dwelt 

Alone, with blithe good cheer I would have made 

Rondels and madrigals to be displayed 

Unto my lord and that wise king. This good, 

Indeed, my lord, by his wise hardihood 

And knightly gentleness, has well attained, 

Yet I, disloyal servitor, have plained 

My selfish loneliness. Choose, oh my King, 

Among Thy angels one of swiftest wing, 

To bear a message to my lord. Is he 

Not first of Thy resplendent chivalry, 

Or captain of the lady Mary's guard? 



[85] 



THE AGATE LAMP 

No matter where, he will not think it hard 

To pause and listen, royally serene. 

Thy messenger shall say, my rhymes have been 

Imprisoned in my heart, by sorcery 

I well believe, but now they are set free, 

And tho, poor captives! they are weak of wing, 

They have not utterly forgot to sing. 

And tell him there remain two things I crave, 

To make a song sweeter than yet I have, 

A song that shall be like a ring of gold, 

Wrought nobly and with subtle craft, to hold 

The jewel of his name, and then, that I, 

Having no farther need of life, may die. 



[86] 



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